


Accelerate

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Desperation, Dirty Talk, M/M, Trapped In Elevator, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:04:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your every move is planned flawlessly, it's hard to remember to make room for potential mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accelerate

A lot can be said about Chekov's diligence and dedication to his work. It was plain from the day he joined the bridge crew on their five year mission, and since then, the genius of only twenty-two has been the recipient of endless praise and adoration. It's probably just as well that everyone seems to think his overactive brain can be nothing but a blessing. But there's a less obvious, obsessive-compulsive component attached at the hip to his unusual affinity for scientific concepts and equations, something that won't let him rest even when he knows he needs to. Exhausting, but it is the only way he’s ever known. 

The nagging sensation tolls inside a full bladder four hours into alpha shift, and Chekov bargains with himself, like always— _just ten more minutes, and I'll be back in five_ ―but he gets distracted, like always, adjusts the bargain, and eventually gives up. Physical discomfort is nothing compared to the mental anguish he fears will consume him if he misses even a minute of the action, even when he finds himself staring off into literal space, even when Sulu, bored to death from hours of flying on cruise control, dares to rest his chin on arms folded over the console.

Rounding the sixth hour, the pressure buildup shifts from occasional, pleasant pangs of urgency to uncomfortably demanding. Chekov holds his breath as if such superstition will keep anyone from noticing how he wriggles in his chair, crosses and recrosses his legs until the urgent sensation subsides. He calms himself with the reminder that the promise of release awaits him, and the full-body tingle that follows is a bit more rewarding than Chekov cares to admit. His breath hitches in a tiny gasp when a dull yet particularly heavy throb resounds too close to his cock. When he’s certain he’s been unheard, he sits up straighter in his chair, preparing his body for the last leg of this internal endurance run. 

For all the worry it does him, the eight hour shift always ends with a dry pair of pants. Normally, Chekov would be the first to bolt from the bridge, slipping out in the most casual way a man about to piss himself can manage, straight towards the nearest bathroom. Even if the closest toilets are an extra turbolift trip out of his way, Chekov has plenty of time to get back to their shared quarters before Sulu arrives shortly after his routine post-shift visit to the ship's greenhouse. Always, that is, until the day the Russian’s luck runs out. When your every move is planned flawlessly, it's hard to remember to make room for potential mistakes.

 

"Wait, Pavel," Sulu calls out as Chekov is about to flee. "I'm headed right back to the room today, so let's walk together. Cool?"

Chekov pauses to collect himself before turning to face his friend with an enthusiastic nod. “Okay,” he says, and he’s almost sure it will be okay, until a seismic throb in his abdomen that reminds him why he never, ever waits for anyone. Anyone except Sulu, apparently, whom he looks upon with the brightest eyes and can't wholeheartedly deny truth in the way the captain compares him to a lost puppy, following the lieutenant around, toe to heel.

Chekov recovers quickly. He can still make it, he thinks, joining his friend on the turbolift. What's ten more minutes on top of eight hours? And besides, if there is one person he wouldn't mind pissing himself in front of, it's Sulu.

Wait. That isn't right. That should not be a rationality, much less a thought at all—but it’s one that haunts him frequently. If ever his mind strays from the path of innocent thoughts concerning the natural release of his bladder, it’s Sulu, always Sulu in his head, conveniently appearing the moment that Pavel lets go.

Realizing just how alone the two of them are once the lift doors slide shut, Chekov chases the memory of those thoughts away. "Not visiting your plants today?" he asks, leaning heavily on the lift's wall opposite Sulu. Sulu smiles at his choice of words and shakes his head. "Nah, I'm going. There's something in the room I need to pick up first. You should come with me. I mean, if you want to―"

Chekov never gets the chance to answer. The lift stops to an abrupt halt, nearly shaking both boys off their feet. They are pitched into total darkness for what feels a lot longer than just a few seconds, and they're suddenly a whole lot closer. Sulu's reflexes manage to prop him up with a hand on the wall behind Chekov's head.

"Shit," Sulu hisses in apology after nearly crushing the ensign. Chekov can only manage a startled yelp as he releases a hot spurt of piss into his underwear. _Fuck._

Chekov's eyes squeeze shut, concentrating his effort on stopping the treacherous flow before it becomes completely overwhelming. When he blinks again, the emergency lights have come on and Sulu is standing by the lift's control panel.

"Main turbolift to the bridge, Lieutenant Sulu here," says Sulu, tentatively, more like a question than an announcement.

The intercom whines and Chekov sighs in relief—at least the connection remains intact. He will not meet his fate here so soon! Spock's voice comes through with a worrying static crackle, but stays on the line. "Turbolift, this is Commander Spock. What is the problem?"

"We've lost power, Commander. Backup power has been established, but we have stopped moving."

"I am aware," comes Spock's matter-of-fact reply. "Engineering is being contacted as we speak, but it appears that four decks, including Engineering, are experiencing a similar problem. It should go without saying that you will contact us if there are any changes. Spock out."

Chekov hisses a pained _”bozhe moy”_ under his breath and hopes—prays, even, that life support will shut down and kill him before the inevitable happens. Sulu steps away from the panel and sends Chekov a shrug meant to convey, _well, I tried._

Chekov tries to smile back but it comes off as a grimace. The ensign is at his breaking point already. He can no longer suppress the need to hold himself, and he sinks to the floor to sit rigidly on his knees. An unsuspecting Sulu is crouching before him at once, gripping both Chekov's shoulders and peering worriedly down at his trembling friend.

 

Sulu has his suspicions, and had them long before now. How many times must he witness his best friend and helm partner almost fall apart, sitting not one meter away at the console? He has watched on in mystified horror from the corner of his eye, and bless his heritage, for the sheer amount of nervous blushing he would do otherwise would have given him away. 

His romantic feelings for the navigator exist separately from these awkward moments on the bridge, but certainly do not aid in the control Sulu does or does not have over his imagination. The more he tells himself that it's wrong to have these fantasies—as long as he keeps them hidden from Pavel—the more trouble he has chasing pictures of his young friend's pale face washed pink with a hot blush from invading his head. Unfortunately, sharing a bathroom means he has the privilege of seeing Chekov's shirtless figure every morning, so the delicious arch the sweat-slick body would make in response to the desperate need for release at Sulu's mercy never entirely fades from his mind's eye.

Sulu wants and is prepared to chase Pavel to the edge of the universe and back or until he notices the intent of Sulu's actions, like when he stands a bit too close in their quarters or hovers a little too long over Pavel's shoulder when they need to share a screen at the console—but oh, _god._ The things this kid does to Sulu in between his more or less innocent advances make it awfully hard to wait that long.

 

"Hikaru," gasps Chekov, forgetting to breathe—a sound that goes straight to Sulu's cock. Sulu's pupils are dilated in the barely lit chamber, blown so wide that Chekov feels like Sulu can see right through him, and upon this realization is a sharp twinge between his own legs. "This cannot be happening," he groans, "Oh, no, not now, no..."

Sulu drops his full weight to the ground and from this level, he can see the way poor Pavel holds himself. "Shit, Pavel," is all he manages to say before a full-body shiver wrecks through the young ensign and he cries out. It's nothing like in Sulu's fantasies—terrifying, and only about one hundred times better. Add in the fact that it's _actually happening_ and multiply the sum by the amount the low blue light still leaves to the imagination. An erotic chill runs up the lieutenant's spine. If there was ever a final exam to test the extent of his self control, this must be it—and if the guttural way he growls Pavel's name is any indication, he is already failing.

A completely new kind of heat sparks in Chekov's groin at the single, low utterance, different from his desperate need to pee, but strangely, very similar. Chekov draws a connection between the two feelings he never thought would cross each other's paths. He drops his head to rest on Sulu’s shoulder for support, lest his body start to double over on itself. The physiological need to unclench his aching muscles and the primal desire to fuck and be fucked are one in the same, and Chekov doesn't know which makes him cry first. All of this is terrible.

Sulu's heart breaks when the first sob comes out, and continues to hurt when it doesn't stop. "Hey, listen. It's alright," Chekov hears him saying, and he sounds so far away at first that Chekov must come back down to earth so he can hear. "It's alright," repeats Sulu, "I've got you. It's okay."

Because he doesn't know what else to do, Sulu moves to capture Chekov in a loose embrace, careful not to put pressure on anything he shouldn't. Chekov’s panicked breathing slows, and the pressure subsides long enough for him to stop crying and for a moment, he actually believes in Hikaru’s reassurance, that whatever happens here, he'll be okay.

Sulu doesn't know where or when he learned about the danger of holding a full bladder for too long, but the nature of his work as a frequent member of the landing party must hold the answer. When half your missions end up stranding you somewhere in close confines with a group of people, you don't come back without more medical knowledge than you ever wanted to know—but now, he's glad he has. If Chekov injures himself on his watch, Sulu might never forgive himself.

"You shouldn't hold it. You can really, really hurt yourself and I don't know how much longer we'll be in here. You can let go, now, Pavel. I've got you."

Chekov's breath catches in his throat, and he is certain that if physiology allowed, his cock would be flush full of blood and aching hard. Sulu just _gave him permission_ to go, and fuck knows if it isn't the single most arousing thing Chekov has ever heard. His relief, if it can even be called that, is temporary, though, and the realization comes crashing down: _Sulu knows,_ and now he knows that Pavel knows what he knows— _fuck._ Chekov continues to shake and helplessly palm his crotch as urgency threatens to finally overcome him.

“Ah, ‘Karu, _please,_ ” pleads Chekov and he doesn't know what he's begging for until he's actually in Sulu's lap, closing the gap left between them. Sulu moans in response, wrapping his lithe partner in arms that don't seem to care if they bring Chekov body flush against his erection. Whatever his boy needs, Sulu will gladly give him all that he can.

There is no slow, shy buildup to the frantic way Chekov ruts against him, and Sulu doesn't think twice about bucking his hips into Chekov's with just as much fervor. The dim lights and stale air are just enough to remind them of where they are, lest they strip down to seek that skin-to-skin contact they both so desperately want. For now, at least, the sticky warmth that passes through their sweat-soaked uniforms will have to do. Sulu can feel his skin start to chafe under the unrelenting friction, but he knows from Chekov’s wanton cries that he's close. 

"Good boy," Sulu pants hotly into the skin of Chekov’s even hotter neck, grinning wickedly from the pleasant way he feels like he’s melting from the inside out. He touches gentle fingertips to Chekov’s bulging abdomen, pressing down slightly. "Piss for me, baby. C'mon, I know you can, know you want to, you're doing so well—“

 

Listening to the normally reserved lieutenant's dirty talk, Chekov doesn't know whether he'll come or pee, but holding on is no longer an option. Relinquishing control of every muscle in his lower body feels a bit like jumping, he imagines, from an impossibly high place. There's nothing, at first, then he feels the unmistakable wet splash inside his underwear, like the force of gravity pulling him down. Then another, and another, until he's pissing freely into his trousers. It takes a second to breach the thick fabric but then, _oh, christ,_ he's going in Sulu's lap and he can't stop. Not that either of them want him to. Sulu whispers little pieces of encouragement into Chekov’s ear while Chekov’s jaw is locked in a breathless, silent scream. The trapped sound beats at his closed throat, threatening to rush past his lips, and Sulu’s soft voice and warm scent and loving embrace are the only things keeping him from crashing to the ground all at once.

He is clinging to Sulu for all his life is worth. Fear flashes in and out of Chekov's mental periphery. He's going more than he expected, so much more than what he perceives is normal, and he worries he might never stop and he worries that Sulu is aware, just long enough for embarrassment to sink in. But Sulu— _Hikaru,_ his fearless pilot—brings him down easy, a smooth landing. He kisses Chekov’s face in no logical pattern, ending with a fanfare of soft, chaste kisses to the center of his mouth.

"Oh, god. Christ. Oh my fucking god, Pavel," Sulu breathes at last, like he's just witnessed a miracle.

Chekov wishes to protest, wanting to stay wrapped up in Sulu for eternity, or at least until the slick warmth between them fades to nagging discomfort. "I am sorry," he groans, “But I have wanted to do that for a long time. I did not want you to find out this way, about my, um, feelings."

"No kidding," Sulu chuckles, but he couldn't agree more.

Chekov presses a wet kiss to Sulu’s cheek. “I am glad you were with me, Hikaru. I could not have survived if I did this with anyone else.”

“And I can’t imagine letting anyone else have this with you. Now that you know I'm a filthy old pervert, there's no use hiding it, huh?"

"Mmm," Chekov muses blissfully, glad his friend is comfortable enough to find humor in it. "I think not. I want to take care of you like you took care of me." Chekov blushes, acknowledging the prominent tent in Sulu's wet trousers that survived the downpour. 

"Yeah?" Sulu’s inflection is heavy with interest. "So you'll come to bed with me when we get out of here?"

"No," Chekov says firmly, and the ensign's mischievous smirk lights up his whole face, forgetting for a second how uncomfortable the rapidly cooling fabric feels against his legs. "When we get out of here, I am going to find and destroy the security tape of this.”

Sulu pulls a face like he just got punched. _How could he forget about that?_ "Okay, yeah. I'm with you on that one, one hundred percent." He snorts and leans his forehead against Chekov’s. "You will get changed first, won't you? It's bad enough to get caught like this. Imagine if we were found out tampering with security footage, too."

They bask in each other's giggles that follow, allowing the last of their tension to dissolve before facing the sickening reality that the road ahead may very well be paved with awkward encounters and a couple of very good explanations for why _both_ men are soaking wet.


End file.
